Reflections
by BackForBreakfast
Summary: An AU body swap fic set at the beginning of Season Five, during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship. Chandler wakes up one morning to find a very strange sight in the mirror... Chandler & Joey friendship, some CM. CHAPTER FOUR finally up!
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

**Author's Note: **After being inspired by one of my other fandoms, the TV series _Red Dwarf_, and of course, movies like _Freaky Friday_, I thought I would have a go at writing a 'body swap' fic in the setting of _Friends_. I have always thought that this device is a great way of exploring characters, their motivations, and the relationships between them. I really hope you enjoy it – please read and review! I have altered a few minor details of locations in order to make the story work, so please excuse this. Hehe.

**Setting: **AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips. Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM. Because we all like that.

**-Reflections-**

**A **_**Friends**_** Fan Fiction**

**Prologue**

Chandler awoke with a start. The first thing he noticed was that his head was pounding, throbbing, as if someone was beating against his skull like it were a drum. _Thump, thump, thump_. He groaned, and clutched his pillow. This was far worse than any hangover. It was a pain he'd never experienced before; a rhythmic, intense ache that erupted in his brain and seared down his spine. He buried himself in his sheets and attempted to go back to sleep. But as much as he tried, the orchestra in his head would not stop playing. Bleary-eyed, he sat up, and stubbornly threw open the covers.

Half-blind with sleep, he reached for the dressing gown hanging from the back of the door, and shrugged it over his shoulders. He tied the cord around his waist and yawned. As if in response, the blazing pain in his head struck again, harder this time, and resting his hand against the wall he took a few deep breaths. _Idiot!_ _Those cheap painkillers had better do the trick_. He steadied himself, and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, shuffled through into the living room.

Wait a minute.

It took him a few short seconds to realise that he had just come from _Joey's doorway_, and a further few before a frightening thought occurred to him. If this was a hangover, just how drunk _had_ he been last night? He peered back into the bedroom. It was almost pitch black, but from the faint shaft of street-light that shone through the window, he could see that it was empty.

Turning toward the bathroom, he frowned with confusion. He glanced at the kitchen clock. It was just gone six in the morning, and he distinctly remembered going to bed at midnight. Six hours. Enough time for one of Joey's pranks, he thought. A shiver ran up his spine. It was cold in the apartment, and the wooden floor felt clammy and uncomfortable under his feet.

He walked into the bathroom, shut the door and flicked on the light switch. The orchestra in his head had expanded now, and new sections – trumpets and flutes and violins – had begun to play. He winced with the pain. Opening the cabinet on the wall, he found a rainbow of medicine boxes: green, blue, red, and yellow. He fumbled through them quickly, barely reading the labels, until he came across a box of ridiculously-sized orange pills. _These oughta do it_. He prised one out of the packaging and turned toward the mirror above the sink. And that's when he saw it.

Eyes growing to the size of ping pong balls, he stared, hypnotised, at his reflection. _Oh God_, he mouthed, and then out loud, "oh God oh God oh God," his voice full of urgency, of disbelief.

He was Chandler Bing.

Why was he looking at Joey Tribbiani?

* * *

**A/N:** Please read and review! I don't usually upload chapters this short, but I just want to know if there is interest before I continue. Please let me know if you would like to see more! 


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

**UPDATED Author's Note: **Thank you so much for your encouraging reviews! Here is the first chapter. I hope you like it! Again, some locations/details may be changed for convenience of the story, but nothing too major! This chapter does get a little soppy near the end, but Mondler seems to be known for that anyway, hehe!

UPDATE: I totally agree with the crits in the reviews so I have edited this chapter to include a longer scene between the two of them. I really hope this makes things clearer and more believable! Thanks for your reviews, they were really helpful!

Here's my review responses:

**Venused:** Thank you very much! I totally agree with you about Joey and Chandler. In this fic, Joey hasn't found out about Monica and Chandler's relationship yet, so that won't be playing a part in the story – but I'll leave it secret as to who will find out what's going on!

**kylleee: **Thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the beginning, and I hope you enjoy this chapter too!

**Llew:** No, he didn't – I felt it would be a bit too complicated or awkward if he did, so I decided to set it before that. I'm really glad you enjoyed it so far!

**sn0zb0z:** Thanks! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

**rajen48:** Thank you, I often have trouble working out how to open a story so I'm glad it satisfied you! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

**writerchic16:** Wow, I would love to see your fic if you're interested in giving me the link! Nice to meet someone else who likes this plot device, and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Setting: **AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips (Joey has not found out about them yet). Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM.

**-Reflections-**

**A **_**Friends**_** Fan Fiction**

**Chapter One**

Panic.

Chandler stood dumbfounded for a moment; like a cartoon character, his jaw hung limply open. His arm shaking, he reached for the mirror, and to his horror the reflection did the same. As his fingers touched the glass, the truth of it became all too clear. He could feel its smooth texture, its icy coldness, and as he drew his hand downward, saw the trail of his fingertips smudge across its surface.

He felt like screaming but was unable to make a sound. He swallowed. His throat was so tightly closed that it felt as if he were being strangled by an invisible assailant. This couldn't be real. Things like this didn't happen to people. They happened in movies. They happened on TV. Not to real people. He tried to dismiss it. He licked his teeth – Joey's teeth – they felt strange, slippery, almost too big for his mouth. He ran his hands across the contours of his face and into his hair. But they were all unfamiliar, all different, all _wrong_. It was like reading a map without any names; he could see the general picture but all the details were missing.

Five long minutes passed.

Strangely, the throbbing pain in his head had dulled - it was less frequent, weaker, fading fast. He didn't know why; perhaps the shock of the situation had sent it into submission. Resting his hands against the sink, he tried to steady his breaths. He looked up at the mirror. What was he going to do? He couldn't go to work like this. And he certainly couldn't keep up the pretence that he was Joey - not even with this brilliant disguise. And what about Joey himself? How was _he_ going to react?

_Stop it_, he told himself. _Calm down. Think rationally_.

It so happened that thinking rationally was quite a tall order in such an irrational situation. It was a few minutes before he came to his decision: he needed to tell somebody, and fast. More than anything, he needed to prove to himself he wasn't mad. The thought that perhaps he was the only one who could see this - that it was a bizarre, cruel hallucination conjured up by his own mind - frightened him. He both anticipated and feared the answer, for either outcome was equally terrifying.

He took in a deep breath, and with one last look in the mirror, made his way out of the room and headed for Apartment 20.

It was two short minutes before Monica answered the door. To Chandler, it felt like an eternity. Dressed in her bathrobe, her hair unkempt, she blinked sleepily at him from behind the chain.

"Monica, you've gotta let me in." Chandler glanced down the hallway, then back at the closed door of his apartment. "Monica, _please_." He rubbed his throat, startled by the deepness of his voice.

"Joey?" she yawned. Good. He wasn't the only one seeing it. "What are you doing up this early on a Saturday?"

He looked desperately at her. "I'll tell you in a minute."

She sensed the urgency in his tone, and narrowing her eyes, closed the door and unfastened the chain. Chandler burst through into the room, almost knocking her backwards in the process.

"Do you mind?" she scoffed. "You're lucky I'm a morning person."

Chandler shut the door. "Mon, is anyone else here?"

"Only Rachel," she replied, "but she'll be dead to the world for another few hours." She paused. "Are you okay?"

He brushed past her into the kitchen. Frantically he moved to her collection of cups, and one by one picked them up, turning them over and glancing at the numbers written on the bases. He opened the drawers and shuffled through the silverware. He searched the fridge shelf by shelf, reading every label. Everything was unmistakeably _right_; there was no way, he knew, that he could have imagined it. Eventually he stopped, holding a jar of pickled olives. "I can't believe this."

"What is _up_ with you?" said Monica, leaning against the kitchen counter. "We've had those for weeks. If you wanted them, you could have just come over at a _normal_ time of day."

Chandler looked up as if he had only just noticed her. "Mon," he said, placing the jar on the table, "there's something I have to tell you."

Monica looked suspiciously at him, her eyes narrowed, watching his every move. His voice trembled, wavering with a strange, nervous energy. He moved toward her.

"Monica..." His voice cracked like a choirboy's. He swallowed, "Monica, it's me."

She stepped back, frowning. "Joey, what are you talking about?"

"No no, you don't understand," Chandler gestured wildly with his hands, though what he was trying to indicate, he didn't know. "I'm not Joey." He paused for a moment. How was he supposed to tell her? There was no use in inventing a story to explain it; the words would stumble from his mouth in what could only be described as elaborate gibberish. No. He had to tell the truth. After a moment's deliberation, he took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, realising the absurdity of what he was about to say. "I'm…Chandler."

Monica laughed. "No, you're _crazy_," she said, pushing past him and walking swiftly into the living room. "I hate to tell you this, Joe, but April Fool's was two months ago, and you couldn't even get me then."

"Look, this isn't a joke," said Chandler, following her. "I'm serious. I need you to believe me."

Monica turned to face him. "Oh, I believe you."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah." She folded her arms and raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "You know, you really did a good job with that disguise. Tell me, where's the zipper?" With a quick smirk, she turned away.

Chandler didn't blame her. He ran his words over in his head and realised how ridiculous – no, how stupid – they sounded. It was absurd to even entertain the idea that Monica would believe him. Heck, he wouldn't even believe himself. He slid out a chair and slumped down forward against the kitchen table, burying his head in his arms, and let out a low, frustrated groan.

"Is Chandler in on this?" he heard Monica say, her voice muffled by the sleeves of Joey's dressing gown.

He looked up, his eyes bleary. "What?" Then, understanding her question, he shrugged. "Oh. I-I guess."

"Well," Monica smiled thinly, "you can go and tell him that his little scheme didn't work. He'll have to try harder if he wants to fool this Geller."

She started to turn toward her room, and Chandler knew she expected him to leave. But he felt something inside him jump, and before he knew it the word had leapt up his throat. "Monica-"

She didn't turn around. "You can take the olives, Joey."

"Monica, _please_," Chandler pleaded, "you have _got_ to believe me." He cringed at the sound of his voice; it sounded overblown, like a bad actor cast in a Broadway play.

At this, she stopped, and swivelled to face him. She folded her arms and an amused smile crept across her face. "Okay," she said, "give me one good reason why I should."

Chandler racked his brain. He had to convince her, somehow, some way…

Before he realised what he was saying, the words had slipped from his mouth.

"I- I know what's going on. With you and Chandler."

Monica froze. "What?" _Oh God_. That might not have been the best idea.

"Er- what I mean is-" He scrambled for words but his tongue felt like a sponge in his mouth, clumsy and awkward. It was almost a relief when Monica broke the silence.

"Oh my God." The change in her was instantaneous - her voice became barely audible, reduced to a whisper. "I can't believe he told you." She collapsed onto the couch.

He walked over to her and sat down on the coffee table, leaning forward against his knees. "He hasn't told anyone," he said softly, reading the disappointment on her face. "Because he's right here."

She looked at him, but said nothing.

"And-and I can prove it, too," Chandler said, desperately trying to keep her attention. "Er…remember the day after it happened? When we were searching everywhere for a place to be alone but wherever we went we could never catch a break? Remember how mad you were when I picked _My Giant_ and it turned out that Joey was the one person in the world who actually liked it?"

She shook her head sadly and looked down at her knees. "He could have told you all that." Why was she even listening to him? She couldn't quite believe what she was hearing, and to tell the truth, she was only half-listening to his words. That Chandler had had the audacity to share these things – private things – with other people made her both angry and upset.

"And you think Joey would stand for it?" asked Chandler. "You know he's a good guy. Sure, he has a different girl over practically every night, but he has his morals. He wouldn't joke about this."

She looked up at him. This was Joey. It had to be. This was Joey's face. There were Joey's eyes, and there the faint hint of Joey's smile. But somehow, it didn't add up. There was something in his voice, too – something strange, something different, something that made her anger strangely begin to fade. The slightly childish charm was missing, and in its place was a shaky, nervous quiver, the voice of someone who was never too sure of himself.

And let's face it, she thought, Joey isn't _that_ good an actor.

"Let me ask you something," she said. "And I know I'm going to feel stupid for asking this, because this is so ridiculous and I can't believe I'm even—alright, alright, I'll just say it."

_Yes, come on. Believe me._

"You can ask me anything," said Chandler.

"Okay," she said, taking in a deep breath. "I want you to tell me exactly what he said that morning after. If you are who you say you are – and I can't believe I'm saying this – you'll know what I'm talking about. And I mean word-for-word. No mistakes."

"And what makes you think Joey wouldn't know that?"

"Trust me," Monica said earnestly, "he wouldn't."

_You're right; he wouldn't. Not now, not ever._

"Well, if that's what it takes." Chandler flashed her a knowing smile. There was no hesitation, no pause for thought. He simply leant toward her and whispered something in her ear.

When he had finished, he watched as her expression changed from a tightly pursed frown to a contemplative gaze, eventually settling on one of gentle wonder. She seemed to be looking through him, as if there were a mirror there - as if she could see him on the other side. Plucking up his courage, he reached forward and took her hand. "Do you believe me now?" he said. "It's me. It's Chandler."

Her response came slowly, disbelieving. "Chandler?"

He managed a smile. "You know, tall, brown hair, hopeless with women?"

Five minutes later – which mainly consisted of Monica pacing like a tiger up and down the living room – somebody finally spoke. Or spluttered.

"How did this- I mean what- how could-" Monica's voice was shrill, choked, as if something was caught in her throat. Chandler watched her from the couch.

"I don't know, Mon." He leant forward. "I had to tell you – I panicked – I didn't know what to do, so I came here." Monica stopped and looked down at him, her eyes ablaze with a mix of anger and confusion.

"Well I hate to tell you this, but I'm not too prepared for this sort of situation either!" Chandler, wincing, eyed Rachel's door, and Monica followed his gaze. "Oh, like _that's_ the biggest of my problems right now," she growled. Now that she had stopped moving, Chandler could see just how much her hands were shaking, how beads of sweat had coalesced in her palms and how the vein in her forehead was pulsating at a worrying rate.

"It's okay," he said, trying his best to pour sincerity into the words. "It'll be okay." But he couldn't even convince himself, and this frightened him. The sentence was empty, meaningless, and he knew it. He paused for a moment and picked at his fingernails, trying to distract himself. "We just need to work out a plan, that's all."

"You're- you're right," stammered Monica. "You're right." She sat down beside him, seeming slightly more enthused at this prospect. "Well, for one thing, we- we can't tell anybody. Not about us, not about this whole…event." Chandler nodded.

There was a long silence. After what seemed like an age, Chandler uncomfortably offered the question both knew was inevitable. "So what should I do?"

"Well," said Monica, the words leaping clumsily from her mouth, "I don't know…we need to keep people from finding out, so I think…I think it's for the best that you pretend you're Joey." At this word, Chandler looked up at her, his eyes widening with dread.

_Joey_.

All of a sudden, there was a scream from across the hall.

**A/N:** Thanks so much for reading - please read and review! I'd love to know what you thought.


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

**Author's Note: **Wow, I can't believe that I got so many reviews! Thank you guys! I really appreciate your support. It means a lot to me! I had a lot of trouble writing this chapter and it took me weeks to do as it was such a difficult scene. I really hope you enjoy it, and once again, all reviews are greatly welcomed!

Here's my review responses:

**DrKerryWeaver: **Thank you so much! I'm glad you're finding the fic fun. I always find these sort of fanfics fun to read myself, so it's great to be writing one!

**kylleee: **Yeah – I had to get Monica to believe him otherwise there would be all sorts of complications in the plotting of the story XD I've edited that first chapter a little and will probably revise it in future. Hope you enjoy this chapter!

**Venused:** Thank you – you have no idea how much I enjoyed writing that last sentence! Hehe. I totally agree with what you said about Monica. I have revised the first chapter a bit though it still needs work. It's so hard to keep people in character in such an AU situation but your comments are really helpful!

**sn0zb0z:** Thank you so much! I had fun writing Monica's reaction. There are more reactions in this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it!

**rajen48:** Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy the story with this chapter!

**wolf with panther eyes:** Thanks! I'm not brave enough to write a boy/girl switch, though I know there are some very well-written ones around! Glad you're enjoying it!

**Llew:** Thanks, I will do so! I have this all plotted out so I should hopefully be able to finish a fanfic for once, haha!

**Tina:** Here's the next chapter for you – thanks for your kind review! I hope you enjoy this one!

**Setting: **AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips (Joey has not found out about them yet). Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM.

**-Reflections-**

**A **_**Friends**_** Fan Fiction**

**Chapter Two**

Chandler burst into his apartment, almost stumbling over his own feet. He fell against the breakfast counter as the door rattled against the refrigerator. It swung back to close, and the sudden slam made his heart jump. He raised his hand to his chest and tried to catch his breath, gasping like a swimmer just come up for air.

"Joey?" he gulped between breaths, "Joe, where are you?"

There was a small crash and a few muffled footsteps before a silhouetted figure staggered out of his bedroom. Chandler reached for the lights, but pulled away. Did he really want to see this? His hand hovered over the switch, and his heart was pounding so hard that he could hear each separate pulse thump in his ears. He swallowed. _Come on_, he told himself. _It's just Joey_.

But it wasn't. It wasn't just Joey. It was Joey and a whole host of other things he didn't want to think about. Things he never thought he would _need_ to think about. The whole situation was so insane that he still couldn't convince himself it was real. He was a rational guy. He worked with numbers. Numbers were safe; they didn't change on a whim. A five was a five was a five. It didn't just _change_ into a four.

It dawned upon him that this was one of those days when both math and reason were failing him.

Torn out of his thoughts, he jerked around as a table lamp blinked into life. It was then that his gaze met the figure across the room. He stared, fixated. If his eyes had been ping pong balls before, now they were the size of oranges. Standing with hand wrapped round a pull-cord, dressing gown loosely tied and hair in complete and total disarray, was…himself.

Only, it wasn't.

Chandler felt for a moment as if he had been paralysed. It was one thing seeing Joey's reflection in the mirror, but to see what appeared to be himself – _himself_ – standing in front of him was an entirely different matter. And the matter was that this was an entirely different person. The awareness slowly set in that he was incapable of moving his own body, powerless even to lift a single one of his fingers. _Oh God_, he realised, terrified. _He had more control over himself when he was drunk_.

And now this body was striding toward him brandishing a broom.

"Woah," said Chandler, snapping back into quasi-reality. The fact that he was able to say anything at all surprised him, and he almost jumped at the sound of his voice. He backed away from the counter. "What…what are you doing there, pal?" The words came out with a nervous stammer.

The Joey-Chandler creature thrust the broom toward him and held it with shaking hands to his throat. "I…I don't know who you are, or…or where you came from," it said, its voice quivering and afraid, "but you tell me what's going on here." It sounded extremely strange, a hybrid of voices that didn't quite fit together, but that carried a sense of utmost fear.

Chandler backed up against the door. Flustered, he tried to speak. "Joey…" At his name, Joey jumped, and pushed the broom dangerously close to Chandler's neck. Now in a rush of panic, a slew of words came spluttering from his mouth, each phrase seeming to leap over the next in a desperate attempt to get out first. "Joe, it's me, it's me - it's Chandler!"

Chandler could see even in the low light that Joey's eyes were running wild. He frantically felt across the door, but couldn't find the handle. "Oh God, okay. Uh…" he ventured, "do you think you can put down the broom?"

At this, Joey stumbled backward, letting the would-be weapon fall from his hand and clatter to the floor. Chandler, relaxing a little, rubbed his throat and gulped down a breath. Looking up, their eyes met, and for a moment there was silence. When Joey did have the courage to speak, it was only to say a single word.

"…Chandler?"

It then occurred to Chandler that this was a lot easier than convincing Monica of the situation. But then again, this time he had pretty palpable evidence.

"Yes," he said, trying his best to sound calm. "Look, Joe, I-"

"Well what the hell is going on?!" Joey's voice was strained, distressed. "How can you be Chandler? I mean…you're…" He raised both hands to his head and gripped his tousled hair. At the feel of it, he let out a startled cry, lost his balance and fell clumsily against the foosball table.

Chandler stepped toward him and helped him up. "Maybe it's best if you sit down," he said, leading him to one of the barcaloungers open in the living room. Joey staggered forward and collapsed into the chair, and Chandler watched as he curled into a foetal position, his knees drawn up against his body, his fingers dug like claws into the leather armrests.

Chandler took a deep breath. "Are you okay?"

Joey looked incredulous. "Of _course_ I'm not okay!" he shouted, more frightened than angry. "Why would I be okay?!"

"I know, I know." Chandler rubbed his forehead. _Stupid question_.

Joey stared up at him. "What…I mean…how did this happen? Was it you?"

A wry comment leapt to mind – a very clever quip about witchcraft classes – but for Joey's sake, he bit his tongue. He'd have to make do with a very plain "no", despite how much it pained him.

The strain in Joey's voice was clear. "Then what the hell happened?"

"I don't know," said Chandler. "I remember…I remember going to sleep last night, and everything was normal. When I woke up, I was like this."

"But this doesn't make any sense!" Joey wailed. "Why would anyone do this to me? What did I do wrong?"

Chandler wrinkled his brow. "It's nice to know where we stand on each other."

Ignoring his remark, Joey looked down at his hand. He flexed it, feeling the muscles clench and tighten. Seeing the blue veins that ran in unfamiliar pathways across his skin, he shuddered and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them everything would be right again. It wasn't.

"I've gotta tell someone," he stammered, starting to get up from the chair. "My mom, my dad, there must be someone I can…maybe one of my sisters-"

"We can't," Chandler said abruptly, moving to stop him. "We mustn't tell anybody, Joe. Trust me."

"_What?_" Joey fell back into his seat. "Why not?"

"Well," Chandler began, "Monica thinks that-"

"Wait a minute," Joey interrupted, his voice suddenly more focused. "You've told Monica about this?" He stood shakily from the chair. It was a strange sensation for Chandler, who had always been taller, to suddenly be looking up at his roommate. Somehow, Joey had harnessed this fact to his advantage, and to Chandler's astonishment looked intimidating, something he had never managed to achieve. If they ever got out of this, he would have to ask how he did it.

"Well, I…uh…"

"You told _Monica_ before me?"

"Technically?" Chandler took a cautious step backwards. "Technically…yes, I did. But!" he exclaimed, seeing the look on Joey's face, "I…I had to do it. To prove I wasn't crazy. And clearly, since she saw right through me, I can't pass for you. I guess, uh…I guess you're just too _manly_." He clasped his hands together and winced, awaiting the response.

"Well, that _is_ true." Joey looked thoughtful for a second before shaking it off. "But that doesn't matter! Chandler, you're my best friend! And what does _she_ have to do with this?"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Chandler replied. "And I should have told you first, you're right. I just panicked. I…I didn't know what to do."

"Well you're lucky you have that face, pal." Joey thrust a finger at him. "Because otherwise, I'd find it pretty hard to forgive you right about now."

Chandler smiled weakly. "I guess I am."

Joey walked to the breakfast counter and pressed his palms against it. After a moment, he raised his hand to his brow and gently massaged his forehead, letting out a low, miserable groan.

"I'm really sorry, man."

Joey gave a single grunt in acknowledgment.

Chandler cringed at the sound. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

"Well I don't really have a choice," said Joey. "Being mad at each other isn't going to help anything, is it?"

"You're right." Chandler restrained his sigh of relief. "Thanks, buddy."

"Yeah." Joey stared at the counter, almost motionless.

There was an awkward silence before Chandler ventured to speak. "Look, we need to be rational about this." _Why did that sound so ridiculous?_ "I think - and I know this will sound stupid - but I think we should go along with it."

At this, Joey looked up at him. "You mean…pretend to be each other? You? Me?"

"Well, yeah."

"You're kidding, right? I can't do that!"

"Why not?" asked Chandler. "You're an actor, aren't you?"

Joey scoffed. "Chandler, you've read my reviews."

"Look, just think of it as practice. Character acting."

"Tell you what." Joey turned away toward the living room, his voice dismissive. "I have a better idea."

Chandler folded his arms. "Alright, let's hear it."

Joey's response was blunt. "How about this," he said. "We don't leave the apartment. Okay?"

"Joe, we can't-"

"You said you'd hear it!"

"Fine," Chandler sighed. He leant against the foosball table and tapped his foot impatiently. "Go on."

Joey paused for a moment, his brow creased in thought. "Oh, wait," he said eventually. "That was the whole thing."

Chandler moved to put a hand on Joey's shoulder, but quickly retracted it. He stared for a while at his palm. A shiver ran down his spine, and he shuddered, shaking his head to dispel the feeling.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," said Chandler. "It's just…I don't know, touching myself. It's weird, that's all."

"I thought you'd be used to it," shrugged Joey.

Chandler narrowed his eyes. "Very funny." He brushed past him. "Look, man, we can't stay up here. Who knows how long this is going to last? We've just got to get used to it. We can't stay cooped up in the apartment - you know that."

"I've lived on pizzas and beer before, and I can do it again," Joey said defensively.

Chandler eyed him for a moment. "When did you ever _stop_ doing that?"

"Hey, I like sandwiches, don't I? Brownies? Those frosted flakes with the little candy bits on top?"

"Oh yes." Chandler raised an eyebrow. This time, he just couldn't help himself. "I'm sure the culinary world is rejoicing at the sheer _exquisiteness_ of your taste."

Joey was shocked to hear these words coming from his own mouth. And it was not just the words (after all, they were big words), but the delivery. Rarely was his voice so laden with sarcasm, and this was positively _dripping_ with it. Chandler's sarcasm. He could almost hear him, almost see him as he spoke. It was the kind of feeling that made his hair stand on end.

"Please," said Chandler. "We have to do this."

"But why can't we just tell everybody?"

"Because we can't risk them knowing. I was lucky Monica believed me – who knows what the others will think? If we let this spread, they'll think we're mad." He paused. "I'm having enough trouble convincing _myself_ that this is happening."

Joey sighed. "Alright, fine," he said, folding his arms like a stubborn child. "But I'm not happy about it. About any of it."

"It's not my idea of fun either, Joe."

"Yeah," Joey grunted. "So what do we do now?"

* * *

After what seemed like an age, a beam of sunlight finally began to creep through the windows of Apartment 19. The shock of the situation was still resonating in their minds, and both Joey and Chandler had sat for a while, hardly saying a word, just thinking. The few times they looked at each other, it was only for a brief moment before their glances turned away - a quick meeting of the eyes, and that was all.

The only interruption had been from Monica, who had knocked to see how they were, and had brought a plate of freshly-made cookies, too. After all, she was nervous – and when she was nervous, she baked. Every time her mother came to visit, there would always be a plentiful supply of gingerbread men; when a food critic was due to review her restaurant, it was blueberry muffins or pecan pie.

When she had left, Chandler closed the door behind her and slid the chain over to lock it. "Well, I guess we'd better get ready."

Joey got up from his barcalounger. "I guess so."

It was only a few minutes before Joey walked, agitated, out of Chandler's bedroom. Chandler stood at the breakfast counter, pouring some Cap'n Crunch into a bowl, if only for some sense of normality. He was just about to go for milk when he saw the expression on Joey's face. _His_ face.

The shock of seeing himself was still enormous, and it was difficult to maintain eye contact. He tried his best to sound casual. "What's up?"

"Man, I hate sweater vests," Joey growled, holding up the item in question. Chandler opened the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of milk. Slowly, he unscrewed the lid.

"What's wrong with sweater vests?"

"They're boring, and they're itchy, and the material makes me uncomfortable. I don't see how you can wear these."

"They're not boring!" Chandler scoffed, pouring the milk into the bowl. His hand was shaking slightly, and a little of it missed and splashed onto the counter. "They go with anything!"

"Well they don't go with me."

Chandler grabbed a spoon and devoured a mouthful of cereal. "Just put it on," he said between chews.

"This whole thing had better not be because I complained about that pizza the other night," said Joey. "They clearly said it came with three toppings. Last time I checked, pepperoni and anchovies is two. And they wouldn't believe me because I didn't have evidence!"

"Joey, you _ate_ the evidence."

A smile crept across Joey's face. "Oh yeah," he chuckled. "That was some _good_ pizza."

All of a sudden, the apartment door clattered inwards and caught against the chain. Chandler looked at it, swallowed, then looked back at Joey. "You know, we really don't promote good manners."

"Guys?" a woman's voice called from the hallway, "what are you doing in there?" They recognised it instantly.

"It's Phoebe," whispered Chandler.

Joey started to panic again. "So what do we do?"

"We let her in," Chandler wiped his mouth with a cloth, and motioned to Joey to stay calm – though truthfully, he was terrified himself. "Just act natural, okay?"

Joey steadied his breaths as Chandler walked to the door. "Okay."

Chandler unhooked the chain. "Hey Pheebs!" Phoebe looked at him for a second, a quizzical expression on her face. This made Chandler rather uncomfortable, and questions started to race through his mind – could she see right through him? Was there some sort of giveaway he hadn't noticed? He held his breath.

"Hey Joey," she said eventually, moving past him as he stepped aside. When she entered the room, she stopped abruptly in her tracks. "Woah."

"Are you okay?" asked Chandler.

"Something's wrong here," she said, her voice puzzled. "I don't know what it is, but I'm getting this really negative feeling. At first I thought it was the ghost of that one-legged man who's been following me around, but this is something else."

"Uh…" said Joey, "are you sure it's not him?"

"It definitely isn't."

"Well it's _obvious_ what it is," said Chandler, glancing quickly around the kitchen. "It's, uh…uh…these mugs!" He shot a fleeting look at Joey, who luckily got the hint.

"Uh, yeah!" Joey moved to the counter and picked them up. "You see, we always have them over here. They're just in the wrong place, that's all." He slid them against the wall. "There." he said. "All better."

Phoebe looked suspicious. "Why was the door locked?"

"Oh, uh…" Chandler replied, motioning to the foosball table, "well, we were in the middle of a game, you see, and we needed our…our full concentration."

"Ugh," Phoebe sighed. "I'll never get what you see in that sport. Anyway, sorry for stopping by so early, but I just couldn't wait until later."

Joey looked confused. "Wait for what?"

"Well, you know how I had Frank and Alice's babies? Well, that kept me pretty occupied for the last nine months. So I figured I needed a new project, right? Something to keep me busy in place of…you know, storing people in my uterus. So…" she dug into her bag, "I want you to have these!" She took out a pair of crude-looking dolls, with loosely sewn-on buttons for eyes, and clumps of wool for hair.

"Thanks, Pheebs!" said Joey, taking one in his hands. He looked pensive for a while. "Uh…what are they?"

"That's you, silly!" said Phoebe. "Can't you see? I even made it a little sweater vest." Joey looked down at the doll. It was, indeed, vaguely recognisable as Chandler, although the giant button eyes made it look as if he were in a permanent state of shock. He turned it over in his hand.

"And you know what the great thing is about these?" she continued. "If you ever make me mad, I have an extra copy I can use for voodoo!"

Chandler and Joey glanced at each other.

"Not you, Joey," she said quietly, touching Chandler's shoulder and miming a kiss. Chandler, unsure of how to react, gave an awkward smile in return. "Anyway, I'm off to give out the rest of these," she went on, shrugging her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you guys later."

"Bye Phoebe," they said in unison. Chandler closed the door as she left, and looked down at the black-haired doll in his hand.

"Want to swap?"

"Yeah."

* * *

**A/N:** That's it for this chapter! Please let me know what you thought! 


	4. Chapter Three

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

**Author's Note: **I'm really flattered by all the lovely reviews I've been getting – thank you so much, everybody! They really inspire me to keep writing more! I had a lot of fun with this chapter, as I was able to really start moving the story forward, and to bring some of the other characters into it. Please let me know what you thought!

Here's my review responses:

**mondlerlove:** Thanks! I agree with you, it isn't right – you'll have to wait and see until the end of the story to find out whether I'll switch them back or not, hehe!

**mika: **Thank you – it was fun writing the end of the chapter! I'm really glad you enjoyed it!

**Venused:** Thanks so much for your in-depth comments! Really glad that the interaction was believable – that means a lot to me. Glad you enjoyed the edits to Chapter One as well! I hope you enjoy this next instalment.

**SqutternutBosh:** I love your username! Thanks so much for your kind review! I'm so glad that they were believable as the characters – this is my first Friends fanfic so it's a bit difficult to try and capture their voices! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

**DrKerryWeaver:** Thanks, I'm so glad you think it's a fun fic! I'm having a lot of fun writing it, that's for sure!

**Matthew Albie:** Thank you very much! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!

**Kate56:** Thank you! This chapter focuses a bit more on Chandler's perspective, but I already have a scene planned where we'll get to explore Joey's side of things a bit more! Hope you enjoy!

**sn0zb0z:** Thank you for saying they're all in-character – that really means a lot to me, as I consider that very important! Hope you enjoy this next part!

**Setting: **AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips (Joey has not found out about them yet). Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM.

**-Reflections-**

**A **_**Friends**_** Fan Fiction**

**Chapter Three**

"Look," said Joey. "You want to pass for me, right?"

"I know," Chandler replied, grabbing a jacket. "But I just don't see how knowing your top ten sandwich fillings is going to help me."

Together, they walked out of the apartment for the first time that afternoon. Chandler turned the key in the lock, and slipped it into his pocket. Joey had picked out for him a chequered shirt – after all, the one thing he _could_ do was ensure he looked his best – and a pair of dark blue jeans, slightly faded around the knees. They were rather tight, and quite unlike the baggy pants Chandler was used to. Still, sacrifices had to be made, and he kept his complaints to himself.

As they headed for the staircase, Chandler noticed Joey looking at him, an amused expression on his face.

"What?"

"You're not going to walk like that, are you?"

Chandler stared at him for a moment. "I'm sorry," he said. "Are you not _supposed_ to put one foot in front of the other?"

Joey folded his arms. "Look, if you're going to _be_ Joey Tribbiani, you have to _walk_ like Joey Tribbiani."

"Well as long as I don't have to think like him," said Chandler, rolling his eyes.

"Hey," said Joey. "I've been perfecting this walk since high school. This walk," he continued proudly, "has got me more girls than you could possibly imagine."

At this, Chandler's cynical expression vanished, and he raised his hand to his chin. "Tell me more."

"Okay – well first, you have to puff your chest out a little. And you don't step, you _stride_." He stood back as Chandler assumed the posture. "Put your chin forward a bit. There. You see?"

Chandler stood, jaw jutted out, chest forward, fists clenched by his sides. "I look like an imbecile," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Hey, thanks buddy!" Joey patted him on the back. "I _told_ you it looked good, didn't I?"

* * *

"Another espresso please, Gunther," said Ross from the couch. The coffee house was so full of customers, world-weary city workers enjoying the weekend, that it was hard to contend with the noise. The air was ripe with conversation, a busy urban buzz that would have normally been quite pleasant. Now, however, it grated in Ross's ears like a thousand chainsaws.

"How many of those have you had?" asked Phoebe, who was sitting beside him, her arm dangling lazily over the back of the couch.

"Enough to keep me awake for the last forty-eight hours," Ross replied, slapping his palms rhythmically against his lap. He twitched. "Where is that coffee?"

"Still no news from Emily, huh?" asked Monica, sitting forward in her armchair. She rubbed a hand over the sleeve of his shirt.

"None," he said. "I sat by the phone for twelve hours yesterday hoping she would call, but nothing. Only somebody trying to sell me insurance, and when he heard how excited I sounded when I answered the phone, it made _him_ hang up. Man, where _is_ that coffee?"

"Don't worry, Ross," said Phoebe. "My friend had the exact same thing happen to her."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Oh, except she had shot a man, and the guy she'd married was on the run from the law and probably didn't want to use a phone. But apart from that, it's pretty much the same story."

Ross looked at her, his voice decidedly deadpan. "Thanks, Pheebs. I feel so much better now." His attention was suddenly diverted as Gunther emerged from behind the counter with his espresso. Ross seized it with shaking hands and downed it in less than a second. Gunther rolled his eyes and walked off, taking the empty cup with him.

"They should make them bigger. Why don't they make them bigger?" Ross whispered as he watched him go, his voice frantic, juddering, as if the earth were moving beneath his feet.

Monica looked down at her watch.

"Mon, are you okay?" asked Phoebe. "That's the fifth time I've seen you do that in ten minutes."

"What?" Monica seemed distracted. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking about something. It's nothing, don't worry about it."

Phoebe smiled. "If it's something, it can't be nothing, can it?"

Monica glanced at her nails. "No, really, it's fine."

"Well, okay," said Phoebe. "But you mustn't keep things bottled up inside. I did that with my mother's suicide, and now I can barely talk about it without becoming a total wreck."

Monica looked bewildered. "Phoebe, you sang a song about it the other day."

"Oh, wait!" Phoebe said, nodding. "You're right, it wasn't that. Ooh, you know what it was? That kitten in the commercial who couldn't reach the—" She let out a squeak and trailed off, cupping her hands over her mouth.

"What? You mean that pet food commercial?" asked Monica. "With the cat, and the—"

Phoebe's voice became worryingly close to a shriek. "For the love of God, Monica, don't make it worse!" At the sound, several customers at the counter turned to look. Monica flashed them a weak, embarrassed smile, then quickly looked down at her lap.

Ross barely seemed to notice. "Well, if you guys don't mind," he said, standing with some difficulty from the couch, "I'm going to go mope in my apartment for a while."

"Alright. You let me know if you hear anything, okay?" said Monica, patting his arm sympathetically.

Nodding, Ross picked up his jacket. He was trembling so much that one arm missed as he struggled to get it into the sleeve. It took four agitated attempts before he managed it. The bags under his eyes were deep and pronounced, and he seemed to struggle even to keep his eyelids open.

As he left the coffee house, Monica picked at her fingernails, scratching off a piece of stubborn nail varnish in an attempt to distract herself. She bit her lip. She had never said it to Ross – the hopeless romantic in her wouldn't have allowed it – but she knew deep down that it had all happened too fast, and now he was paying the price for it. Part of her felt responsible for the whole affair. She'd played the puppeteer, urging him to go to the airport after the woman he loved, in the naïve hope that life would, for once, be perfect. And when it all seemed to be unfolding just as she'd imagined, she realised that there were some things in life that she _couldn't_ control.

Ross's mouth was one of them.

"It's not your fault." At the voice, Monica glanced up to find Phoebe looking at her, a warm expression on her face. Phoebe, always intuitive. "You only wanted the best for him."

Monica managed a feeble smile in return. "Thanks."

Grinning to herself, Phoebe lay back on the couch and picked up a magazine from the table. She licked the tip of her finger and was just about to flick through it when, out of the corner of her eye, her attention was drawn to the door. "Hey!" she said, letting the magazine fall limply into her lap. "Where have you guys been?"

Monica followed her gaze. There, standing in the entrance, were Joey and Chandler. Chandler and Joey. Seeing the two of them together was, as it had been that same morning, surreal. But at the same time, she was relieved they were there. For a brief moment, their gazes met. They both looked rather tired, their eyes carrying a certain weight – and neither looked particularly comfortable.

"The…uh…the duck got sick," said Joey, sitting down on the orange couch. "In the entertainment center. Mess everywhere." Chandler took a seat beside him.

"Again?" asked Phoebe. "What did it eat this time?"

"Uh…" Joey's eyes darted wildly before he shot Chandler a desperate glance. "What was it again, Joe?"

Chandler took a moment to react. "Oh! Yeah, it was, uh…" He racked his brain for a word, any word, but nothing came. He began to stutter as he looked about for some inspiration. Panicking, his eyes fell on a woman by the window with a buggy, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Uh…baby…baby wipes." _Oh God. What was that?!_

"Oh?" Phoebe made no attempt to hide her amusement. "Why do you have baby wipes in your apartment?"

Chandler looked across at Joey. _Two can play at this game_. He nudged him in the side. "Chandler?"

"Well, uh…" After a short pause for thought, Joey looked down and scratched his neck. "Sometimes…sometimes I have…you know, accidents."

_What?!_

Chandler's eyes widened to twice their normal size, and it was all he could do to keep from crying out. He stared, open-mouthed, at his roommate, who wisely kept his head down.

"Well good luck with that," Phoebe giggled, covering her mouth. "Oh, that reminds me – I promised Frank and Alice I'd go and see the triplets today. They don't want me to feel left out of anything. Hey, Chandler!" She tried to hold back her smirk. "Do you want me to pick you up anything whilst I'm there?"

"He'll be _fine_, thank you," Chandler sneered, looking up at her.

"Well, alright." Phoebe could no longer contain her grin. "I'll see you guys later then." She put back the magazine, stood up and brushed down her skirt.

"Bye Pheebs."

When she had left, Chandler elbowed Joey in the ribs. "What the hell was that?!"

"Hey!" Joey frowned, rubbing his side. Strangely, it hurt a lot more than it usually would – but then again, Chandler did bruise more easily. "It was all I could think of!"

"Do me a favour," said Chandler. "_Never_ go into improvisation."

"Guys, come on," urged Monica. "We have to stick together here. Maybe…maybe there's a way we can switch you back. I don't know…how about pinching yourselves?" She certainly didn't _feel_ like a hallucination, but it was worth a shot.

Joey and Chandler rolled up their sleeves to reveal large red marks on their arms.

"Okay, well we can scratch that idea," Monica sighed. "Let's think about this. There has to be a logical explanation for what's happening. Can you think of anything that might have caused it?"

Chandler shrugged. "The universe getting revenge on Joey for leaving the toilet seat up?" He levelled a glare at him.

_If that were true_, Monica thought to herself, _it would have happened to half the population of North America_. She raised an eyebrow, ignoring his remark. "What I mean is…last night. Did you do anything unusual?"

They thought for a moment. "I don't think so," Joey said eventually, his brow furrowed. "Played some foos, watched TV…normal sort of thing."

Monica frowned. "Well there must be something," she said. "You think about it, okay?"

She fell back into her seat and ran her hand through her hair. As she mused over the situation – how implausible and ridiculous it was – her thoughts drifted to her ongoing relationship. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to think about it since this had happened; the first time she'd been still enough to let it enter her mind. Before, they had been happy thoughts, unexplored, exciting; now, they were tainted with a sense of worry and confusion.

Where could this possibly be going?

She was suddenly startled by the touch of a hand on her arm. "Hey." As she pushed her hair from her face, she caught Chandler's gaze. For a moment, she could almost see him sitting there, as if the cloak that shrouded him had briefly been pulled away. It was only for a split-second, a fleeting glimpse - but it told her everything she'd needed to know.

* * *

"You know," said Joey, staring intently at Phoebe's Chandler-doll, "if you look at this for long enough, it starts to look like Bob Saget."

Chandler grunted, and flicked over another page of his book. It was late evening, and there had still been no discernable change in their situation. Joey lay sprawled out on his barcalounger, legs splayed apart, his socks half-off his feet.

"Dude, you haven't said anything for fifteen minutes," he said, sitting up. "What's wrong?"

Chandler peered at him from over the pages. "Do you really have to ask?"

"Well I know _that_," said Joey. "But come on, man. Being miserable isn't going to help anything. Like you said, we have to get used to it."

"Yeah, I know, it's just…" Chandler paused, and moved the book back over his face. "Look, don't worry, okay?"

He hadn't told Joey, but in the time he'd been reading, he'd flicked through fifty pages and not a single word had stayed in his mind. He brought his legs up into his chair and squeezed his toes against the leather seat. This was, quite literally, the last place he wanted to be right now, and as much as he wanted to, he could not conceal the fact.

Joey grimaced. "Why do I keep getting the feeling you're hiding something from me?"

"I'm not," Chandler said from behind his book. As the words left his lips, he felt a pang of guilt surge through his body. He hated lying to Joey. If there was one thing about this relationship he disliked, it was the lies. The cover-ups, the sneaking around. He knew they weren't ready to reveal it yet, but at the same time he wished they could. Joey was, for all his flaws, persistently honest; and it killed Chandler that he couldn't be the same to him.

"Then what's with all the secrecy?"

"Look, Joe, I _told_ you." Chandler's voice came out rather more firmly than he would have liked. "It's nothing."

Joey wrinkled his brow. "Fine," he said, his voice tinged with anger. "But you know – I'm not too sure I believe you." He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone.

"Who are you calling?" Chandler put down his book.

"Pizza place," Joey said, dialling the number. "Why, do they know something I don't know?"

Chandler sighed. "Joe, I'm sorry—"

"Hello? Yeah, can I have two cheese pizzas with extra anchovies, and a coke?" Joey rested the phone on his shoulder. "Hang on a sec." He looked solemnly at Chandler. "You want anything?"

Chandler glanced down at his lap. "No thanks," he said. "I'm not hungry."

"Yeah, that'll be all," Joey continued, turning away. "Okay, thanks. Bye." He hung up the phone.

"Joe—"

"Look, you don't have to explain yourself to me," Joey waved him off. "Everybody's allowed to have secrets."

Chandler cringed at the derision in his voice. Part of him was bursting to tell Joey the news; after all, he wasn't usually the one to boast about getting the girl. But it was more than that; he was his best friend, and best friends shared everything. The other half of him, however, was afraid; how would Joey react? Would he be supportive? Angry? Chandler could only hazard a guess, and this was a frightening prospect.

Choosing to say nothing, he gave Joey an awkward nod, picked up his book and pretended to read.

* * *

"Ugh," Rachel growled as she stormed into Apartment 20. "That was the worst day _ever_." She took off her coat and threw it onto the couch.

Monica stood at the kitchen worktop, slicing onions. "Bad day at work, huh?" she smiled, brushing the chopped vegetables into a pot. She was doubly pleased to be in the kitchen - it took her mind off the current events, and gave her an excuse to use up those extra ingredients she'd had for a while. Yes, this was _efficient_ cooking - and for Monica, that was the best kind.

"Don't get me started," Rachel fumed. "This couple came in wanting to try on outfits together. Let me tell you, Mon, they were all over each other. I couldn't get a word in edgeways. Mind you, neither could they, what with all the _kissing_." She slammed herself down into a chair.

"I'm sorry sweetie," said Monica. "I wish that date had gone better last night, too."

Rachel looked at her for a moment. "Excuse me?" she said. "He _went_ with me, didn't he? I got a free dinner at an expensive restaurant, didn't I? That's got to count for something." She said nothing for a few seconds. "So…how's Ross?"

Monica turned on the cooker. "Still no news," she said, placing the pot over the heat. "He's pretty crushed."

"Well," Rachel said glumly, "at least he can be thankful that he didn't have to spend the afternoon in a room filled with invisible mistletoe."

"Believe me, I think he'd rather be anywhere else right now," said Monica, stirring the pot. An aroma of sweet stew began to fill the kitchen. "I haven't seen him this miserable since—" She trailed off.

"Since what?"

"Oh," Monica turned away, "nothing. Just…be gentle with him, okay?"

"Yeah, well…" Rachel sighed, narrowing her eyes. She began to play with her fingernails. "So what's going on with you?"

Monica thought for a second before answering. _If I told you, you'd think I was mad_. She grabbed the pepper mill and ground some into the mixture. "Oh, nothing much," she lied. "I, uh, cleaned up your magazine stack and organised them into alphabetical order for you."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Mon, be honest; that was for _you_."

"I couldn't help it," Monica winced. "They were driving me crazy!"

Suddenly and without warning, the door flung open. Chandler stumbled into the apartment, clearly rather panicked, his head darting from side to side. He noticed Rachel at the table and gave her a quick nod. "Hey Rach." He turned to Monica. "Mon, can I see you for a minute?"

"Sure," Monica said hesitantly. She put down her spoon. "Rachel, would you mind manning this pot for a sec?" She paused, realising what she had asked, and turned off the heat. "On second thought," she said, "don't worry about it." Wiping her hands with a cloth, she walked out the door after Chandler.

When it closed behind her, she turned to him. "What is it?"

"Promise me you won't be mad."

Monica frowned. "I can't promise anything until you tell me what it is."

Chandler raised a hand to his forehead, and Monica could see that he was purposely avoiding her gaze. "Okay, uh…" he muttered, "well, it's…Joey."

"What about him?" Monica asked suspiciously, folding the dishcloth.

"Let's just say," Chandler said with a weak smile, "I think I need your help."

* * *

**A/N:** Okay, we're done for this chapter! I really hope you liked it – please let me know what you thought! 


	5. Chapter Four

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any characters, locations etc. mentioned in this fanfic. Hooray!

**Author's Note: **Finally I get to update this! I'm really sorry that it took so long. Basically, in between this and last time, I got a job, and I have to commute, so my free time has been drastically cut down – plus a number of other things have come up. But I managed to get this done, and I really hope you like it. I worked very hard on getting this finished!

Also, to save any confusion, whenever I say "Joey", I mean Joey in Chandler's body, and vice versa, unless it's from another character's POV (this won't happen very often though!)

Here's my review responses:

**Kate56:** That's about as complicated as it gets – that's why these things are so much easier to depict visually, hehe! Glad you're enjoying it so far!

**Venused:** I wrote a reply to your review, but I've added it to my Author's Note so others don't wonder about the same issue. I probably should have done that before so people were clear, so thanks for informing me! Thank you so much for the "in-character" comment; that really means a lot to me!

**SqutternutBosh: **Thank you! Ross and Rachel won't have huge parts to play in this story, but I'm glad they were in character when they did appear. I hope you enjoy this chapter too!

**sn0zb0z: **Thank you very much – I hope you like this chapter as well! Please let me know what you thought.

**wolf with panther eyes:** Thank you! That's useful that you just watched the episodes when it's set – hope that helps to bring it to life a bit more!

**Everyone else who reviewed previous chapters:** Please let me know what you think! I'd love to know your opinions!

**Setting: **AU, at the beginning of Season Five during Monica and Chandler's secret relationship, just after The One Hundredth but before TOW The Kips (Joey has not found out about them yet). Mainly Chandler & Joey friendship (not slash), and a little mushy CM.

**-Reflections-**

**A **_**Friends**_** Fan Fiction**

**Chapter Four**

"What did you do?" Monica shot him an unimpressed look. Just what she needed – Chandler getting into another one of his situations. Just the past week, the boys had managed to get a hockey puck lodged into the wall; she didn't know how, and she didn't want to. This, she'd told herself, was something she would definitely have to work on.

He took a moment to answer. "I don't know," he said eventually. "I guess…I just think this whole sneaking around business is getting too much. He was asking all sorts of questions, and I, uh, didn't know what to say."

Monica looked at him. "You know we're not ready to tell, right?"

"Yeah," Chandler sat down on the narrow step, bringing his knees close to his body. "I know."

"Look," said Monica, sitting beside him. "I know this is hard on you. It's hard on me, too. Do you know how much I've been dying to tell Rachel? Chandler, we tell each other everything, and it's killing me that I can't. But it's for the best. When we're ready, we'll know it."

Chandler managed a smile, but he knew deep down that it was half-empty. There was a moment of silence between them, and for those few long seconds an atmosphere of tension hung heavy in the air like a thick, invisible fog. He looked down at his knees, unable to bury the awkward feeling. This situation, which had seemed so right between them, now seemed utterly wrong. He was suddenly incredibly conscious of himself, of who he was and who he appeared to be, and the thought made him shudder.

"What should I do?" he asked, looking down at the floor.

"Talk to him," said Monica. "Chandler, he's your friend. He's probably worried about you, that's all."

"I guess," Chandler shrugged. His face pulled into a half-smile. "Are you sure you trust me with this? I mean, it _is_ a pretty big task, and I'm sure we're all aware of the size of my mouth."

Monica could not help but let out a slight laugh. "Well I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

* * *

When Chandler opened the door to his apartment, Joey was sitting in his barcalounger, footrest up, with a bottle of beer in one hand and the remote control in the other. Almost mechanically he flicked through the channels, only to find nothing but infomercials and the odd B-movie. Eventually he settled for a programme which involved some sort of high-speed chase, filmed with muffled sound and second-rate cameras.

"Hey," said Chandler, hands in pockets, sitting down beside him.

Joey kept his eyes on the TV. "Hey."

"Listen, man," Chandler began. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was a jerk, and I…I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that."

Joey took a sip of his beer. Chandler watched as it moved visibly down his gullet, and wondered how many he'd had. Clearing his throat, he pushed the thought to the back of his mind. It was one thing watching his roommate eat (and boy, could Joey eat), but to have no control over the intake of his own body was entirely another.

"It's okay," said Joey. "It's not your fault."

"But it is," Chandler admitted. "I shouldn't have behaved that way, and I'm sorry. You're totally right – we need to work as a team here." Monica's terminology seemed particularly apt, he thought to himself - even if there was nobody to compete against.

Joey looked at him, swilling the beer around in his bottle. "Don't worry about it."

"Well…okay." Chandler smiled awkwardly. He could not quite detect the tone of Joey's voice, but decided not to risk prying further. "Thanks, buddy." He clasped his hands together and attempted to change the subject. "So…pizza come yet?"

"Nah," said Joey. "Shouldn't take long, though. They recognise my voice. I don't even need to give our address anymore."

Chandler bit his lip. "Do they…do they recognise mine?"

Joey thought for a moment, then sullenly took another sip of his beer. "Good point."

"Yeah," Chandler made to stand from his chair. "So, uh, you want me to order Chinese or something?"

"I thought you said you weren't hungry."

"Well, I, I wasn't," said Chandler, walking to the kitchen counter. He picked up the phone. "But all this talk about food has got me starving." He cringed; that was a grade C explanation at best.

"What's in the fridge?"

Chandler pulled open the door. "A can of beans, and a…" he reached for something dubious from the top shelf, "hey, what _is_ this, anyway?"

Joey turned around, his interest suddenly perked. "That's still in there?" He got out of his chair and took it from Chandler's hand. "I thought I'd lost this baby!"

Chandler appeared bemused. "What?"

"It's a pickle," said Joey. He rested the object in his palm. It was as green as a caterpillar, and horribly shrivelled. "I wanted to see how long it'd take to change colour." He frowned. "Guess it takes a little longer."

Chandler looked at him. "Well now I know not to order hamburgers from _you_."

Joey smiled slightly at the familiar tone, but catching Chandler's glance, looked down. "So, uh," he said, his voice more serious. "How long do you think this is going to last?" He handed the pickle over.

Chandler wrinkled his face in repulsion, put it back on the shelf and closed the refrigerator door. "I don't know, Joe," he replied, scratching his head. "I wish I did."

"Maybe…maybe it'll all be gone in the morning," said Joey. "You know, like when you have a girl over, and she's like _really_ hot, but you have an audition at eleven and you've just gotta shower, so you have to get her out of there by say, ten?"

Chandler said nothing for a few seconds before responding. "Yeah," he said dryly. "Heaven forbid _that_ stop happening."

"Well maybe it's like that," Joey suggested, seeming to ignore Chandler's remark. "You know, a one-day thing."

"Perhaps," shrugged Chandler. "Well, in that case, I guess we'll have to make do 'til tomorrow. Chinese?" He smiled. "Sedative?"

* * *

Joey slowly awoke, his mind clouded with the previous day's events, his vision blurred and foggy. His eyes full of sleep and narrow as slits, he turned over and looked at his bedroom clock. The green, stark numbers stared back at him: 6:03am. Groaning, he rolled back over and buried himself under the covers.

He felt comfort at being in his room, at the light from outside that shined onto the posters on his wall and bounced off his bedside cabinet. Everything was familiar, normal, _right_. He heard a police siren in the distance and it sounded like a wonderful melody. Ah yes. Joey was Joey again, and that was that.

Or was it?

It had to have been, without a doubt, the most vivid dream he had ever had. And as much as he tried, his mind would not let him forget it. He turned over, then back again. He kicked off the covers and rotated his pillow. But nothing seemed to work; every attempt only made him more awake than before. Eventually he gave in, deciding that he was never going to get back to sleep, and that breakfast was probably a good idea. His stomach rumbled as he heaved himself out of his bed.

Yawning and stretching, he opened his bedroom door and walked into the living room. Once in the kitchen, he quietly took a box of cereal from above the refrigerator and poured it out, the frosted flakes clattering down into the bowl with a tinselly sound that rang in his ears. He opened the fridge, and its dim light illuminated the room. He shielded his eyes from the glow.

There was no milk inside, only a half-eaten can of beans and an old pickle. Joey stared at them for a moment. There was something familiar about this, though he could not think what…

He shrugged; he'd have it dry. Closing the fridge, he grabbed a spoon, and leant forward to eat his first mouthful.

Wait a moment. _A can of beans and an old pickle?_

"Oh my _God!_" he cried, dropping the spoon, which ricocheted off the counter and clanged onto the floor. Nearly slipping on the scattered cereal, he ran for the TV and stumbled in front of it. He grasped at the sides of the screen, staring boggle-eyed at the reflection looking back at him.

"Chandler!" Joey came rushing into Chandler's bedroom. "_Chandler!_"

The figure in the bed mumbled something about a pool house, frowned, and turned over. Joey bent down and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him violently, his voice wrought with panic. "Chandler, _wake up!_"

Chandler's eyes shot open. He took a moment to realise where he was before his gaze focused on the face in front of him. _His_ face.

He screamed.

Which made Joey scream, too.

This screaming continued for ten long seconds. Panting and out of breath, Chandler jerked upright. "What on earth do you think you're _doing_?!"

"Chandler, it wasn't a dream!" Joey stood up from the bed and gestured wildly with his arms.

Chandler stared at him. "Well I know that _now_!"

"What are we going to do?" Joey's voice was now so strained and high-pitched that it sounded like neither him nor his roommate. "I can't- we can't-"

"Joey, just calm down," Chandler stopped him, motioning with his hand and attempting to sound composed.

Joey was having none of it. "But Chandler, what are we going to do?!"

"Just give me a moment!" Chandler said irritably, trying to think. He massaged his forehead. "Okay." He took a deep breath. "Okay. We…we made it through yesterday, and we can make it through today."

"But how much longer is this going to go on?" Joey moaned, pacing the room, his voice frantic and full of worry. "I have needs, you know! I can't pick up dates, I can't go to acting class…Chandler, I do _not_ want to have to close my eyes every time I take a shower!"

Chandler rubbed his eyes and blinked. Now that he thought about it, the severity of the situation was slowly dawning upon him. Today was Sunday, he thought to himself. What about tomorrow? Something at the back of his mind irked him; did he have a meeting? A presentation? And what about the days after that – Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday? He couldn't possibly expect Joey to play the part for that long.

"I guess I'll…I'll call in sick," he muttered, rubbing his forehead, which was throbbing with a dull ache. He preferred to space out his sick leave so it wouldn't look suspicious; but in this case, he was prepared to make an exception. He looked down at his feet and clenched his toes.

"What?" Joey stopped mid-pace. "You think this is going to last that long?"

"I don't know, man," Chandler sighed. "But we need to be prepared for it."

Joey scoffed, unbelieving. "Forget it," he said, walking out into the living room. Chandler got up and followed him.

"We can't, Joe." He paused for a moment. "Look, you said you'd do it yesterday."

Joey turned around to face him. "But that was yesterday!" he spluttered, incredulous. "This is today. And today, I say no. It's an entirely different bucket of fish."

"Kettle," Chandler corrected him. Although, he considered, bucket _would_ make more sense. Whoever carried fish in a kettle? He shook the thought off. "And what's so different about it?"

"I'm still you, and you're still me!" Joey said, frustrated. "Look, I don't know about you, but I _never_ thought this would last more than a day. But now you're saying I have to keep this up? Who knows how long it's going to go on?" He dragged his hands down his face. "I can't do it, Chandler."

"Joe, we _have_ to," Chandler urged. "Nobody else can find out about this. They'll think we're mad." To tell the truth, Chandler didn't know how his friends would react, but he certainly couldn't see somebody like Ross believing it. It was hard enough with Monica. And even if through some miracle they managed to convince them, he feared the truth would spread far further than he could possibly anticipate. No; they had to keep this secret.

Letting out a despairing moan, Joey collapsed into his barcalounger. Chandler thought for a moment. "How about…how about we get out of here, and go someplace else," he suggested. "You know, take our minds off things."

After a few seconds, Joey's face lit up slightly, and Chandler realised what he was thinking. "And _not_," he said pre-emptively, "a strip club." He didn't know of any 6am strip clubs, but Joey could certainly find something – and besides, he doubted Monica would approve.

Joey's face fell, and he let out a reluctant sigh. "Yeah," he said, looking down at his lap. "Okay."

* * *

The low barking of a dog echoed through the streets. It had been barking for half an hour now, and Monica had heard every sound. She lay under her covers, her hands pulling the sheets up to her nose, her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling.

She hadn't slept a wink. She'd tried sleeping pills, soothing music, milk and some of the leftover cookies…but nothing seemed to work. Time seemed non-existent. It flowed past her, through her, as if the world was moving around her and she was staying still. She had an excellent body clock – something she prided herself on – but even this seemed to be failing her. She had no idea what time it was; but that was the last thing on her mind.

She didn't know what to expect the next time she walked into Chandler and Joey's apartment, but the prospect filled her with absolute dread. She half hoped that it hadn't happened at all, that it was just a bout of delusion brought on by some bad food. Even though she'd regained some sort of authority at Allesandro's, the staff there still liked to play their little pranks from time to time. It was the first occasion on which she actually hoped they had.

It was at eleven last night that Chandler had walked through her door. They were, he told her, going to go to bed, in the hope that things would be better in the morning. Her reply was quick; they could hardly get much _worse_. He'd looked tired, strained, his eyes set deep in his skull. She noticed how he kept rubbing them, rubbing until they were almost raw. The amount of stress he was under was evident – he and Joey, for it was his face she saw – and she could not help but feel for them.

And there was, of course, the question of their relationship. It had only been going on for a few weeks, those few wonderful weeks since they returned from London, but she missed him. She missed the closeness; a closeness and a natural connection she hadn't felt since Richard. It was a bizarre feeling; after all, Chandler was still there. He hadn't run off. But at the same time, everything was different. Drawing her legs close to her body, she suddenly felt terribly alone.

She rolled over and pulled the covers over her head. She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn't even notice that the dog had stopped barking.

* * *

Joey and Chandler slid into their seats at the Moondance Diner. They had decided against the coffee house on the grounds that they might be discovered; and since Monica had left the diner, she had made all of them promise never to set foot in there again, making it the perfect hideaway. It had just turned eight in the morning, and the sun was still struggling to rise above the buildings.

To tell the truth, Chandler was highly surprised that the place was open at this time - but there it was, fairly empty, but open nonetheless. Neon signs blinked and flickered, the clink of coffee cups rang in the air, and an Elvis song played quietly in the background.

Chandler pored over his menu. "I think these names have gotten even cheesier since we were last here."

"Really?"

"Yeah," said Chandler. "The Suspicious Rinds are definitely new."

A waitress walked over to serve them, wearing the customary wig and fake breasts Monica had been forced to endure. She chewed contemplatively on a piece of gum and smiled. Taking a pencil from behind her ear, she pressed it against her notepad. "What can I get you boys?"

"Two coffees, please," Chandler replied. "Oh, and make mine black."

"And a stack of pancakes with maple syrup," added Joey. "And butter, don't forget butter." He paused. "And do you have any waffles?" The waitress nodded. "Add some of those on there." This was, in every sense, comfort food.

Chandler looked unimpressed. _Why not throw on a block of lard whilst you're at it? _Looking up, he caught the waitress's eye, and was surprised to see she was smiling at him, a sort of half-smile that was both intriguing and frightening at the same time. He tried to avert her gaze, burying himself in his menu.

"Anything else?" she asked, laughing slightly at Chandler's embarrassment.

"No thanks," Joey said, glancing at his roommate. "That'll be all." The waitress nodded and walked off. "Dude," Joey said, pulling down the menu from Chandler's face, "what was that?"

"Did you see the way she was looking at me?" Chandler hissed. "She…you know…"

Joey looked blank.

Chandler sighed. "She _liked_ me!"

"Really?" The amusement in Joey's voice was clear. "You?"

Chandler looked at him, his eyebrow raised. "Yes, me. Why is that so hard to understand?"

"Oh, it isn't," said Joey. "You see, normally it would be, because, well…you know. But now you have the gift."

"The gift?" Chandler folded his arms.

"The _gift!_ How do you think Joey Tribbiani gets all the girls?" He pointed at him. "I'm telling you, it's that face."

"Well this is one gift I'd like to return," said Chandler, fiddling absently with the table's jukebox. "Do you think I can get store credit for that?"

"Well _I've_ sure gotten a lot of credit for it," Joey grinned. "Know what I mean?"

Chandler stared at him for a moment, timing his response carefully. "You know, Joe, I think I do."

Five minutes later, their coffees arrived at the table. Chandler stirred his a little, then took a cautious sip. He frowned and put it back down on his saucer.

"So…I was thinking of going to the game next week," he said after a pause. "You wanna come?"

"Sure," said Joey, staring into his cup.

They fell silent. Chandler took another sip of his coffee, which was still blisteringly hot; not because he was thirsty, but because he could not think of a single thing to say. What _was_ there to say? Small talk seemed ridiculously out-of-place in such a bizarre situation.

He gulped the mouthful down, wincing.

"Burn your tongue?"

"Well, I burnt yours," said Chandler, tenderly licking his lips.

Just then, a familiar shout drew their attention to the window. Waving at them from across the street were Phoebe and Rachel, dressed in warm winter coats, their breath clearly visible in the chill morning air. Chandler narrowed his eyes. _Great_. He'd wanted to get away from everybody. He didn't feel up to this right now; he felt dazed and groggy, not himself in every sense of the phrase.

Before they knew it, the pair had come through the door. Phoebe grinned, walking up to their table. "Hey!" she exclaimed. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Well, we _were_ plotting world domination," Chandler said dryly. "But now it appears we're talking to you."

Phoebe frowned slightly at his unfamiliar tone. She and Joey had, as she liked to call it, a special bond – and it was rare that he would get angry with her. But she decided to let it pass, and slid in next to him. "Monica would kill you if she knew you were in here!"

"You really think so?" asked Joey.

"Oh yes," Phoebe nodded. "Once, she came at me with a knife."

Rachel did a double-take. "Ex-excuse me, _what?_"

"Oh, wait, no," Phoebe said thoughtfully. "That was just this drunken hobo. Though he did _look_ a bit like Monica. I think it was the beard."

It was Joey who broke the ensuing silence. "So…" he ventured, "what are you two doing up so early?"

"Well, there's a Sunday sale at this great place a few blocks down," said Rachel, placing her purse on the table. She smiled excitedly, like a child at the thought of a candy shop. "I thought I'd get there early and get in line. They have the cutest little tops, and these black strappy boots that are—"

"Great," Chandler cut her off. "And why are _you_ here, Pheebs?" The irritation in his voice was all too clear.

"Oh, I know someone who lives in the store."

"They live _in_ the store?" Joey looked puzzled.

Phoebe shrugged. "Well technically _outside_ it, but…you know."

Chandler put down his cup of coffee. "Well as much as we'd love to stick around, me and Joe…" he stopped himself and took a deep breath, "…_Chandler_ here have to get going." Joey looked across at him.

"Why, where do you have to go?" asked Phoebe.

Chandler blurted out the first thing that came into his mind – which was never a good idea. "Oh, you know…to the thing." He glanced back at Joey, whose brow was wrinkled in confusion. Tilting his head, Chandler motioned to the door with his eyes. It took a few moments before a spark of recognition caused Joey to jolt back in his seat.

"Oh!" he said. "Yeah…the place, uh, the place with the thing." He looked angrily at Chandler._ What are you doing?_ he mouthed. Chandler shot him a glare that said, undoubtedly, _I'll tell you later._

"Yeah," nodded Chandler, snapping back into the scene. He stood up, and Phoebe made room for him to go. Joey slurped down a last gulp of coffee before rising from his seat. Chandler shrugged on his jacket. "Well, see you guys around!"

When they had gone, the girls sat back at the table. "That was weird," said Rachel, leaning forward.

All of a sudden, a waiter approached the table. Checking the order number, he grunted, and placed in front of them a stack of pancakes and a plate of delicious-looking waffles, drizzled in syrup.

"_Wow!_" exclaimed Phoebe. "They must _really_ like us here!"

* * *

Joey stormed into Apartment 19. "Man, I cannot believe you made me miss my food!"

"Look, I said I'm sorry," sighed Chandler, following him into the room. He closed the door behind him. "We got bagels, didn't we?"

Joey ignored him. "I thought you said you wanted to play along," he growled, his fists clenched by his sides. "Now call me crazy, but that was _not_ playing along."

"Yeah, I…I know. I'm sorry, man." Chandler drew his hands down his face. "I guess…I guess I couldn't take that first thing in the morning." He let out a slow groan. Was this really such a good idea after all? What use was this plan if he couldn't even enforce it?

But he didn't have much time to decide. He watched as Joey sat down at the kitchen counter and tapped his fingers against the worktop. After a few seconds, his interest perked up. "Hey, we've got a message," he said, pointing to the answering machine.

Chandler shrugged. "So play it."

Joey pressed the button, and the machine crackled into life. "Joey, dahling!" The instantly recognisable voice of Joey's agent filled the room, booming and larger than life. "It's Estelle. Sorry to wake you, but I've got big news! Y'know that part you wanted I couldn't get you an audition for? Well it turns out the guy they hired for the part's all wrong, and I can get you a spot for tomorrow!"

Joey's eyes widened, and he stood straight up from his chair. "Oh my God!" He rushed for a pen and paper, and scribbled down the name of the place as she read it out.

"Get there for 10am. And remember to tell them _Estelle_ sent ya, eh?" After a muffled click and a long beep, the room was silent again.

Joey stared at Chandler, an expression of utter glee on his face, the incident at the diner at once forgotten. "Did you hear that?!"

Chandler looked incredulous. "Woah, woah," he motioned to his roommate. "Slow down there, Joe. You can't seriously expect me to—"

"Chandler, this is _huge!_" Joey interrupted him. "I was so crushed when I missed out on this last time. It's a supporting role in this great little film from this new production company…"

"Joey!" Chandler almost scoffed. The idea that his roommate was serious was both ridiculous and frightening. "No! No, okay?"

"C'mon, Chandler!" Joey pleaded, clasping his hands together. "You don't know how much this means to me! This is my _career_ we're talking about here!"

"Joe-"

"Look, it's not like your job – I can't just call in sick, okay?" His voice was angrier now; sharper, more direct. "You're either there, or you're not. That's _it_."

Chandler put his hand to his head. As much as he wanted to deny it, Joey was right. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to have such little security, passing from role to role, never staying longer than a month. He couldn't comprehend not going to the same office every day, not seeing the same people. Perhaps Joey was braver than he was but he certainly didn't envy him.

"Look," said Joey. "If you do this for me, I promise I'll play along."

Chandler looked up at him. Joey's face, mirrored in his own expression, was hopeful and earnest. After a few brief seconds, he rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. "Okay, fine," he said quietly. "You promise?"

"Absolutely."

"You do know you'll need to teach me, right?"

"No problem," Joey grinned. "Now, where did I put that script?"

* * *

A/N: Sorry again that this was such a long wait. Chandler's a bit fickle here – I don't think he can even decide whether he's able to go along with things or not! Some things are easier said than done! Haha. But we'll see what happens…

Please let me know what you thought – I really hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are love!


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